The wages of sin, oh, the wages of sin,
now is the time for me to start paying
them, broken the diet rules again,
suffering loss of concentration
Read ‘Wintersmith’ to Nici, managed to create
a Cockney accent for Mr Hogparsley, but
without a clear head lost it again, must
first hear Eliza Dolittle’s declaration
In my inner ear: ‘I washed my ‘ands and my face
‘afore I come, I did’ before I can do his voice,
with chemicals messing up brain function,
it is a lost battle - the wages of sin, oh,
The wages of sin, I’ll always be in arrears, can
never pay up as I’m always committing a new
culinary offence, given the certain knowledge
that food makes me ill, I don’t care enough
To put more effort in following guidelines to feel
better than just surviving, my own bland food is
boring in the extreme, so off I go, as happy as
a lark, eating everything restaurants offer
Knowing that by tomorrow I’ll regret my irrespon-
sible attitude towards food; yet cooking
remains my favourite HATE activity...
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